Robert Bly Lecture: The Art of Longing (1995)

[@breathe.move.perform.health]

I ❤ this

[@raykaelin]

This is just so rich..! Thanks..

[@jasonpinson8755]

Thanks.

[@TheBritomart]

Beautiful & powerful

[@MensConference]

"A Farm in Western Minnesota" by Robert Bly When I look at childhood, I see the yellow rosebush Grandma planted near her door, the gravel Beneath the bicycle tires, and the new legs pumping As we raced along; and the roads that invited us West-only a mile from home the land began to rise. We tried those wind chargers. My father Was open to any new idea, and one day A thousand sheep-starving-arrived in cattle cars From Montana-almost free. We took four Hundred. How thin they were! Some lived for years. Many rooms were cold at night, and the hired men Didn't have much of a life. Sometimes they'd just leave. I remember my father throwing dead ewes over The edge of the gravel pit. It was efficient. There Was work to do, but no one learned how to say goodbye.

[@MensConference]

"A Nun Takes the Veil" by G.M. Hopkins: I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.

[@MensConference]

"Love Dogs" by Rumi trans. Coleman Barks One night a man crying, Allah! Allah! His lips grew sweet with the praising. Until a cynic said, "So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?" The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep. He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls, In a thick, green foliage. "Why did you stop praising?" "Because I've never heard anything back." "This longing you express is the return message." The grief you cry out from Draws you toward union. Your pure sadness That wants help Is the secret cup. Listen to the moaning of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. There are love dogs No one knows the names of. Give your life To be one of them.

[@MensConference]

"The Big-Nostrilled Moose” by Robert Bly Horses go on eating the Apostle Island ferns, Also sheep and goats; also the big-nostrilled moose Who knocks down the common bushes In his longing for earthly pleasure. The moose’s great cock floats in the lily pads. That image calms us. His nose calms us. Slowly, obstinately, we retrieve the pleasures The Fathers, angry with the Gnostics, threw away.

[@MensConference]

“Why We Don’t Die” by Robert Bly In late September many voices Tell you you will die. That leaf says it. That coolness. All of them are right. Our many souls- what Can they do about it? Nothing. They’re already Part of the invisible. Our souls have been Longing to go home Anyway. ‘It’s late,’ they say. ‘Lock the door, let’s go.’ The body doesn’t agree. It says, ‘We buried a little iron Ball under that tree. Let’s go get it.’

[@meemaflowers9446]

Loving Bly

[@MensConference]

"How David Did Not Care” by Robert Bly What does it mean to live As those before Have lived? A field Of boisterous men And woman who lift, Shouting, singing, And dancing a sheaf Of wheat up to the sun. When David danced for joy, We guess he did not care. When David played The Song of Degrees On his lute, when he cried, "My bones call out From the depths," then we know He did not care. For not to care is this: To love the orphans And the fatherless, To dance as we sink Into the badger's grief, To let the resonating Box of the body sound, Not to ask to be loved.

[@MensConference]

“How Vincentine Did Not Care” by Robert Bly A man bends over the gunwales, Gazes into the sea Hour after hour, sees A lion rising upward. If he looks to the sky, he sees A dark egg perfectly Visible in the Crow's Stickly nest. When the terrible nurse took Vincentine by the waist and threw her into the ocean, a whale poured her into his copious throat and there she lived without husband or children. What does it matter? Suffering or not, bad parents of good parents, luck or none? Let us agree to climb the trunk of the crow’s tree, and steal the black egg from his nest.

[@sharonpeters2262]

I am reminded of two cartoons. From my childhood I remember The mighty minah bird hops, skips to tune by grieg (grindles cave?) and mountains split to let him pass. The 'iron ball' is a tiny black turd that comes out of the but of a tiny black monkkyperson. It has atomic properties and weighs a couple of tons! I saw it in the trailer advert of disney: an animated movie abt pacific islanders I think. Funny how little things like these set in memory waiting for a cue.

[@MensConference]

“Drinking the Water” by Robert Bly When have we had enough? When we can turn our head, Say no to the dog-headed, Furry-nosed, anus- Eyed goat of duty, Give payback to God. Friends, remember no one Can see his own ears. Mirabai, night after night Let herself down castle Walls on saris to visit Her lowborn teacher. When she washed his old Feet and drank the water, Any idiot would know she did not care. Glimpsing the grave ahead The body leaps up, Cries. “What if death Comes, what if it all ends! Let it end-let the sand And the ocean part, Let it be, let Heaven and earth go their ways.

[@sharonpeters2262]

The way the hired men drank... I thought the sheep were almost free, liberated from montana.

[@yacovmitchenko1490]

If you enjoy this sort of poetry, you may be interested in my book that's due to be published this year (probably in October, perhaps a little sooner). Here are some sample poems (found on Wordpress): 1. Amsterdam Park 2. Meditation 3. Shattered Mirror 4. It Used to Matter 5. My Wife 6. Everywhere 7. Human Consciousness 8. The More and Emptiness 9. I Dreamt Once... 10. The Whole Artwork 11. Lucid Streams of Deference 12. The Young Man 13. More Beautiful Differences 14. Rain 15. Red Cottage Days 16. Lovely Sun 17. The Proof 18. Purify Purify 19. You Sit, Face Averted 20. You're Lying There Still Asleep 21. Poem For a Friend 22. Poem For the World 23. Picture of Me 24. Come and Tell Me, Death 25. Companion of Christmas Trees 26. Pain 27. Blossoming From the Ground of Your Truth 28. Billowing Rain on a Sunday

[@Justyn219]

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